ken and rubbed her face, and winced.—Perhaps that was what they call, a premonition. I only thought that later, though. At the time, I saw her chafing her cheek and said, ''What''s the matter?''
She moved her tongue. ''I have a tooth, I think,'' she said, ''with a point that cuts me.''
''Let me see,'' I said.
I took her to the window and she stood with her face in my hands
and let me feel about her gum. I found the pointed tooth almost at
once.
''Well, that is sharper— 1 began.
''Than a serpent''s tooth, Sue?'' she said.
''Than a needle, I was going to say, miss,'' I answered. I went to her sewing-box and brought out a thimble. A silver thimble, to match the flying scissors.
Maud stroked her jaw. ''Do you know anyone who was bitten by a snake, Sue?'' she asked me.
What could you say? Her mind ran to things like that. Perhaps it was the country living. I said I didn''t. She looked at me, then opened her mouth again and I put the thimble on my finger and rubbed at the pointed tooth until the point was taken off. I had seen Mrs Sucksby do it many times, with infants.—Of course, infants rather wriggle about. Maud stood very still, her pink lips parted, her face put back, her eyes at first closed then open and gazing at me, her cheek with a flush upon it. Her throat lifted and sank, as she swallowed. My hand grew wet, from the damp of her breaths. I rubbed, then felt with my thumb. She swallowed again. Her eyelids fluttered, and she caught my eye.